


your heartbeat with mine

by museaway



Series: The Flock [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bunker Fluff, Domestic, Established Relationship, Human Castiel, M/M, Picnics, Sick Sam Winchester, Slice of Life, can be read as a standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are enjoying their first summer alone in Lawrence (well, suffering through the heat is more like it). But when Sam isn't in touch for several days, they make the trip back to the bunker to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your heartbeat with mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts).



> I wrote this as a continuation of The Flock universe, but you don't need any knowledge of that story to read this. Set at an ambiguous time diverged from the S10 canon universe, with no angst, Darkness, or mention of the Mark. Presumes human Castiel. 
> 
> Beta read by Irontallica666, The Collectress, Guusana, ORgrannie, and quickreaver (who deserves a medal).

 

Summertime in Lawrence wasn’t comparable to Hell, and since human testicles were slightly less than core body temperature, “hot as balls” was hardly accurate when the thermostat read eighty-five. Castiel supposed Dean was being metaphorical.

Days when the temperature climbed past ninety, Castiel hid in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and their yard-sale air conditioner rattling in the window. It churned out mildewed air. He had trouble sleeping when it cycled on and off at night, but it shaved the edge off his discomfort. Dean slept through the racket, no doubt conditioned by a lifetime in motels.

When a heatwave struck in August and Dean equated Lawrence with Lucifer’s asshole, Castiel was appalled but too hot to disagree. He lived in shorts for a month and looked forward to meeting up with Sam for hunts, which meant a few days in a motel with an ice machine and a commercial A/C unit.

He showered before bed and again when he got up, but still felt sticky. He kept a wet cloth on his neck at all times. Dean opted for beer on their sagging porch. Castiel swatted flies away from his lemonade and slurred something about relocating to Alaska.

The heat broke the first week of September, leaving them with a free Saturday and nothing planned. Castiel suggested a picnic—they featured in a good deal of his literary canon. He wanted to experience one for himself. He was pleased that Dean agreed without argument, and touched when Dean offered to find and pack a basket.

Castiel looked up from the “basket,” an old box that once carried Coronas, with a scowl. “This is beer and napkins.”

“So?”

He folded his arms over his chest and took a long breath.

Dean scoffed. “What the hell do normal people pack?”

“I don't think there are strict conventions. A text from 1904 suggests stuffed eggs and oranges.”

Dean’s mouth was tight, as if he wanted to reply. Castiel deduced that Dean found his response unhelpful.

“I'll make sandwiches,” he appended, winking to let Dean know he'd been kidding. In actuality, he hadn't been kidding at all, but it wouldn't hurt for Dean to think so in this case. He ran through a mental checklist of the refrigerator’s contents—they had apples and half a watermelon. “And a fruit salad.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dean said. “I, uh. I'll see if I can find something to sit on.”

“Alright,” Castiel said as Dean left the kitchen.

Castiel heard him searching in the small linen closet just off the bathroom, probably disrupting Castiel’s tidy rows of toilet paper rolls and product bottles, a habit that had become second nature after months of stocking shelves at Gas n’ Sip.

“Have you heard from Sam?” Castiel called.

“Not today. Why?”

“We haven't seen him in two weeks. I assume you’ve spoken about potential cases.”

“I think he’s giving us space to, uh.” Castiel could picture the slightly embarrassed look on Dean’s face, the same one he wore the day they packed the Impala and left for Lawrence. “But now that you mention it, he hasn't texted me in a couple days.”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Castiel said to squash the note of worry in Dean's voice. He got out the bread and a jar of peanut butter.

“You kidding? He's probably loving this. In fact, I’ll bet you a case of beer he's got a fridge full of that kale shit and his yoga crap all over the war room.” Dean laughed uneasily.

“Get me my phone?” Castiel asked, laying twelve slices of bread on the counter.

“Where is it?”

“In the bedroom charging.”

“Yeah, okay. Hey—found the beach towels."

Castiel tilted his head in thought as he unscrewed the jar. "We have beach towels?"

“They got stripes,” Dean said, coming back into the kitchen with two of them slung over his shoulders. He set Castiel’s phone on the counter. “That means they're beach towels.”

“I didn't realize there was a distinction.”

Dean slumped at the kitchen table and popped open a cold beer. Castiel made six sandwiches, wiped his hands on a dishcloth, and picked up his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Dean asked.

“I’m texting Sam.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re worried about him.”

“ _You’re_ worried about him,” Dean muttered.

“I worry about both of you.”

He sent a quick text and got out the watermelon and apples. Dean stood behind him as he cut them up, and rested a hand at the small of Castiel’s back.

“He’s probably in the shower,” Castiel said when he noticed Dean glance at his phone. Dean kissed Castiel’s neck and opened the fridge.

“Those apples are gonna turn brown,” he muttered, ignoring him. “Think I saw a lemon rolling around in here."

* * *

They parked near the boat ramp and hiked to a shady spot along the riverfront. Dean spread out the towels on the sandy bank and Castiel took out the food.

There wasn’t anything special about the preparation—it was bread that had been on sale and off-brand peanut butter—but it tasted better outdoors. He ate two sandwiches, chewing slowly as he took in the rush of moving water, the light afternoon breeze. Dean ate three and failed at pretending not to sneak glances at Castiel’s phone.

“He’ll write back,” Castiel said.

“Course he’ll write back. You want a beer?”

Castiel shook his head. Dean opened another and shut his eyes. Castiel smiled at the sight of him with his head tilted back, neck exposed—he loved every inch of Dean’s body. He corralled their trash in the box and settled against Dean’s shoulder.

They were quiet for a while, just listening to the river. A dog barked twice in the distance and people jogged past on the trail behind them, but the spot they’d chosen was secluded. Castiel put a hand under Dean’s t-shirt and caressed his stomach.

“Are you trying to get me worked up?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

Dean leaned his head against Castiel’s hair and chuckled. Castiel slid his hand further up Dean’s chest and positioned it over his heart. He breathed easier when he felt it beating. He couldn’t restore life anymore, but he could share one.

“Can you believe we’re doing this?” Dean asked, quiet but happy. He slung an arm around Castiel’s back and tugged him closer. “Figured I’d be dead by now.”

“Technically, you have been.”

“You’re a dick,” Dean muttered through a laugh.

* * *

Castiel took a nap with his head pillowed on Dean’s stomach and Dean’s hand nested in his hair. He sniffed awake and stretched into a generous yawn, then opened his eyes. Dean had his phone out and was frowning.

“Just call him,” Castiel said. He sat up and shielded his eyes from the dappled sunlight through the trees.

“He didn’t pick up.”

“So call him again.”

“I did. It went straight to voicemail. And he hasn’t replied to my texts or email.”

Dean wet his lips and didn’t look Castiel in the eye. Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the trail that led back to the parking lot. Their house was locked, the air shut off, and the little food they had in the refrigerator would keep until Monday.

“It’s almost two-thirty,” Castiel said. “If we leave now, we’ll be at the bunker by dinner.”

“I’m not driving across the state because Sam’s too damned lazy to plug in his phone.”

“I’ll drive,” Castiel sighed. “You were drinking.”

“I had one beer.”

“You had two beers here and one at the house.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered but slapped the keys into Castiel’s palm.

* * *

“I’m driving. That means I control the radio,” Castiel argued, switching back to NPR. The Impala cruised down US-24 at a respectable seventy miles an hour.

“And I’m vetoing this station. Passenger’s rights.”

“Since when does the passenger have rights?”

“Since you drive like an old geezer and turn on talk radio.”

“It’s informative.”

“It’s geriatric,” Dean said. “Sammy listens to that crap.” He turned the dial and the radio spit out static.

“I don’t feel like arguing, so put on one of your tapes or switch it off.”

Dean put on Journey’s _Greatest Hits_. He belted out the lyrics to _Faithfully_ with one arm hanging out the window. The wind tossed his hair and he mimed singing into a microphone.

“You regretting this yet?” he asked as Steve Perry crooned, “ _Oh, girl, you stand by me_.”

“I’m beginning to,” Castiel said, biting down to keep from smiling. He checked the rear-view mirror, but Dean saw through the farce and laughed heartily, gripping Castiel’s thigh.

“Still time to change your mind.” Dean flicked his eyes up so Castiel would understand his meaning.

Castiel adjusted his hands on the wheel. “I made my choice.”

Dean went still. He regarded Castiel softly for a beat, then cleared his throat and adjusted the radio volume. He pulled out his phone.

“Anything?” Castiel asked.

“Zilch.”

“Do you think he met someone?” Castiel asked, squinting as they approached the turn-off for 181. He slowed down and signaled.

“Maybe some chick who runs a dog shelter. Bunker’s probably overrun with mutts.” Dean let his head loll back against the seat. “Fact is, only time I’ve had trouble getting a hold of him like this is when something’s wrong. He’s good about checking in, unlike someone I know.”

“Hey, I’ve been much better since I got my new phone.”

“You forgetting about that radio silence a few years ago?”

“Are you really bringing that up again?”

“I’m just saying this isn't like him.”

“Then it’s good we’re doing this,” Castiel said.

“It’s probably nothing. Waste of gas,” Dean dismissed and turned toward the window.

* * *

Castiel drove through Lebanon a little after six. It was a good thing they’d eaten and had leftovers in the car because Ladow’s was already closed for the night, which meant they’d have to drive over to Smith Center for any supplies.

He made the turn onto the road that led toward the bunker, squirming to relieve the discomfort in his back and legs. Kansas’ flat roads were monotonous, and Dean was slumped against the window asleep with the radio off, unable to help Castiel stay awake. He’d make coffee once they got in.

He woke Dean in the garage with a hand on his knee. Dean grunted awake and ran his tongue over his teeth, then sat up.

“Time is it?”

“Almost six-thirty. You go in. I’ll get the food.”

“Okay.”

Dean leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, then got out of the car. He stretched his arms over his head as he walked through the garage. Castiel watched him in the rear-view mirror.

Sam wasn’t in the war room when Castiel got inside. But taking the leftover sandwiches and beer to the bunker’s kitchen, Castiel noted signs of life: two mugs in the sink, a bowl, a spoon. The food left in the bowl was crusty, clearly a few days old. He pushed up his sleeves and scowled as he scrubbed it out, then made a half pot of coffee and left the machine to brew.

“Dean?” he called as he got to the door to Dean’s—their bedroom. The distinction made him smile. He stood outside for a breath, momentarily overwhelmed, before turning the knob. The room was dark. He switched on the light and found it just as they’d left it, minus the few personal items they’d taken with them to Lawrence.

The bunker was blessedly cold. Castiel took a deep breath and set their bag on the bed. He sat on the edge to remove his shoes. The mattress sunk under his weight, then rose gently around him; if Dean were in the room, he’d probably joke about it remembering him.

Castiel walked barefoot through the hallway until he heard Dean’s voice coming from Sam’s room.

“—what Cas and I were up to. You shoulda _called_ me!”

“My phone died. I couldn’t get up to charge it.” Sam’s voice was rough. A cough rattled deep in his chest. Castiel winced at the sound.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

“A day ago, maybe.”

“What about water?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Don’t give me that look. I’m trying to figure out if I need to drive your ass to the emergency room.”

The door was open, so Castiel took it as an invitation to come in. He stood just inside the threshold.

“Hello?”

Dean’s back was to him. His posture was stiff. He had one knee on the bed and a hand on Sam’s forehead. Sam lay on his back, propped up on pillows, with the covers pulled tight to his chin. Even from the doorway, Castiel could see that Sam was flushed and shaking.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said with a weak smile.

“See if you can find his charger,” Dean said without turning around. “And the thermometer. He’s burning up.”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

“Did you take anything?” Dean barked at Sam.

“I took Tylenol a few hours ago.”

“It’s probably worn off. Cas, bring the bottle too.” Dean looked over his shoulder and caught Castiel’s eye.

“We’re out,” Sam croaked. “That was the last of it.”

“I’ll run out and grab some,” Dean said, but Castiel stopped him with an outstretched arm before he reached the door. He knew that Dean would prefer to stay with Sam, and Castiel could manage a few groceries on his own. Besides, the hour-long round-trip to Smith Center would give Dean and Sam a chance to catch up. Castiel doubted either of them wanted him hanging around for that.

“I’ll go,” he said. “Do we need anything else?”

“Soup?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Of course. I’ll be back soon,” Castiel said, sparing a thought for the coffee sitting untouched in the kitchen. Dean shot him a grateful look.

* * *

Rural Kansas had its charms: excellent stargazing, peace and quiet. But the downsides included being removed from the amenities of larger cities. It was seventeen miles to Smith Center, but the convenience store was open late. He picked up over-the-counter pain killers, a cough suppressant, throat lozenges, and a few cans of soup. He bought ice cream for Dean, and for himself, milk, eggs, and bread. There was cinnamon in the spice cabinet. He’d make breakfast in the morning if Sam was feeling better.

Shopping for the three of them gave him a sense of purpose. He set the bags on the seat next to him with a satisfied grin. But his satisfaction was tinged with regret. It bothered him that Sam hadn’t felt he should call them, that he’d suffered unnecessarily because Dean was with Castiel in Lawrence.

The coffee machine was still on when he got back. After putting away the groceries, he heated the soup and poured himself a mug. He usually drank it black, the way Dean preferred, but today he added some of Sam’s organic french vanilla creamer and drank it leaning over the sink. He didn’t drink coffee for the flavor, but he liked the way it woke him up. The smell was his favorite part of it, rich and earthy, but he’d prefer molecules to the taste.

The creamer took away the coffee’s bitterness but was cloyingly sweet. He used half the amount for his second cup that he carried with him to Sam’s room.

Sam was propped up on pillows, a damp cloth on his head and a thermometer between his lips. Dean must’ve talked him into new clothes, because there was a limp t-shirt and rumpled drawstring pants discarded on the floor. Dean, seated in a chair he’d dragged next to the bed, poured a glass of water from a pitcher and shoved it into Sam’s hands.

“Drink.”

“Cas, thank god,” Sam said, catching Castiel’s eye with a pleading expression. “Please tell my brother that I’m fine. I just need to rest.” He thumped his head back against the headboard. Castiel noticed his phone charging on the nightstand. The laptop was open on the bed next to him, screen gone dark.

“I hope you’re not working,” Castiel admonished.

“Just watching videos,” Sam said too brightly, shifting in a way that made Castiel think he’d actually been prowling for cases. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t call Sam out.

Castiel set down his coffee and handed the plastic bag to Dean. He wasn’t sure if he should leave the room or if it would be alright to stay, but he reasoned that if he were sick in bed, he’d appreciate Sam’s company. He stood behind Dean’s chair.

“There’s cough syrup and throat lozenges as well; they didn’t have a very good flavor selection. And your soup’s warming up.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said through a shiver.

Dean tore open the box containing the Tylenol and poked a hole in the protective seal. He knocked two tablets into his palm and shoved them at Sam.

“Take these.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Sam accused before swallowing both and chasing them with a long drink of water.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a riot.”

“Does Cas know about your addiction to a certain medical drama?” Sam coughed _Dr. Sexy_ behind his hand

“I enjoyed the first season,” Castiel said.

“So, I shouldn’t return the lab coat and cowboy boots I got Dean for Christmas?” Sam asked.

“Bite me,” Dean snapped. “When’s that soup gonna be ready?”

Castiel curved a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and squeezed once. Dean tensed, but when Castiel squeezed a second time, he felt Dean’s muscles begin to relax. He massaged his neck lightly, easing his thumb in a circle at Dean’s hairline.

“In a few minutes,” he replied. To Sam, he said, “Do you want to eat in here?”

“Might try to walk out to the couch. Kinda sick of the ceiling.”

“If you need help, call us,” Castiel said. He slid his hand to Dean’s shoulder, patting once to encourage him to stand up. “I got you ice cream,” he added, as incentive.

Dean craned his head up to look at him. “What flavor?”

“The one in the freezer.”

Pushing up from the chair with a sour look, Dean followed him a few steps toward the door. He turned on his heel and jabbed a finger at Sam.

“You fall down because you’re too stubborn to ask for help, I’m gonna let your ass sleep in the hallway.”

“Text me,” Castiel mouthed to Sam, pointing to his phone. Sam nodded, his expression one of amusement and gratitude. Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and herded him out of the room.

* * *

He relaxed at the kitchen table, stretching out his legs while Dean pawed through the cabinets.

“What’s he been living on? There’s nothing to eat in this place.” He slammed the refrigerator closed. “Everything in the fridge is green and says ‘organic’ on the label.”

“He’s clearly starving,” Castiel said into his coffee while he scrolled through the five-day forecast.

Dean flipped him off and exclaimed “ _Finally_ ,” when he located a jar of popcorn in an upper cabinet.

“I’m drowning this in butter,” he muttered. The kernels rained down into a saucepan, pinging against its sides. He poured in oil and flicked salt on top, then slammed on the lid.

Castiel got out the ice cream and ran a hand down Dean’s spine. “You’re upset.”

“You think?” Dean’s jaw was tight, his posture rigid. Swallowing, Castiel began to rub a slow circle into Dean’s lower back.

“It’s a terrible feeling to believe you aren’t needed anymore, but that’s not true.”

“You know people die from the flu, right? Sam’s immune system never fully recovered from the trials and thinks he can just ride this out instead of calling us.”

“I think I know someone else like that,” Castiel whispered and kissed Dean’s ear. Dean shrugged him off, so Castiel got out bowls and was setting them on the counter when his phone chimed.

“I’m going to help Sam to the couch,” he said.

Dean’s head jerked up. He scowled, his mouth open in accusation, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. He took a breath, and after blinking a few times, he gave a quick nod.

“Will you bring the soup to the living room?” Castiel asked. “And the ice cream.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, giving the pan a rough shake.

Sam had pushed the covers back and had both feet on the floor when Castiel knocked and went inside his room. He’d pushed his hair, unusually lank, behind his ears. His nose was red, eyes watery and a bit bloodshot when he met Castiel’s gaze and grinned.

“Ready?” Castiel asked, slipping a handful of lozenges into his pocket.

Sam took his arm when he offered it. He leaned into Castiel as they walked down the hallway. The fever’s heat radiated off of him. He took careful steps, shuffling his feet and wheezing every few feet. Castiel grunted under his weight.

“Sorry he dragged you out here for this,” Sam said. “I’m sure you guys had stuff going on.”

“It was my idea to come.”

“Oh.” Sam was quiet as they walked the span between doors. “Dean scared the hell out of me when he barged into my room. I thought something had happened to you.”

Castiel angled his head up to look at Sam, confused. “Why?”

Sam met him with a knowing look: a little soft, a little sad. “Not a lot gets him that upset,” he said gently.

Castiel’s face reddened. He ducked his chin to hide the flush on his cheeks, pleased and touched by Sam’s words. “I’m sorry you’re sick,” he offered.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re probably gonna catch it.” Sam turned his head away to cough. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“If I get sick, I’ll make Dean bring me soup.”

“You’re not the one I’m worried about. I’m guessing you’ve never seen Dean sick.”

“Just allergies.”

“Let me just say…” Sam stopped to cough. “That’s one job I’m happy to relinquish.”

Castiel helped Sam to the couch and covered him with a thick blanket. He piled the lozenges on the table next to him, beside a box of tissues. Dean sat on the far right with a beer. Castiel settled in between them.

Dean had set out the popcorn in a mixing bowl and ladled the soup into a mug. Castiel handed the soup to Sam, who slurped a little into his mouth and made a contented sound.

“Figured it’d be easier to sip it,” Dean mumbled around a spoon of ice cream. He picked up the remote. “You got a preference?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said. He took another sip and sighed. “It’s just good to be out of bed.”

“As you wish,” Dean said, settling back with the remote.

“Dean, no.”

“What?” Castiel asked, looking from Dean to Sam and back again.

“You said you didn’t care.” Dean smirked, pressing a button on the remote. The screen read _The Princess Bride_ in blue lettering.

“Oh, I know this story,” Castiel said. He sat back, smiling, and folded his hands on his lap. Dean reached for the popcorn. He crunched it by the handful while Sam slurped his dinner. On the TV, a man with powdered hair pinched his grandson’s cheek. Dean recited lines of dialogue under his breath, just out of sync with the movie.

Before Lawrence, there had been so many evenings like this, where he and Dean sat with scant inches between them. Castiel had struggled against the desire to reach out, to be connected, but uncertainty had made him doubt whether Dean would allow it. He’d been seemingly hyper aware of his brother’s presence, always shying away from Castiel’s hand outside the bedroom.

Moving to Lawrence had been a revelation. He didn’t have to wonder any longer if he could touch Dean, if Dean wanted him to. The physical connection became almost constant. He was acutely aware of its absence now.

He wasn’t sure how Dean would react, but Castiel guided an arm behind Dean’s shoulders. He rested it along the back of the couch and waited. Dean stiffened but kept his eyes on the television. Castiel swallowed and kept still. He reached for popcorn with his free hand and watched Dean in his peripheral vision.

After a few minutes, Dean relaxed against him, shifting his weight so he leaned into Castiel's side. Within an hour, he laid his head on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel’s heart filled to bursting.

Sam laughed when Buttercup shoved Westley down a steep hill, then went tumbling after him. Dean laughed into Castiel’s shirt. Castiel had the two people he loved most in the world on either side of him and laughed at the miracle.

* * *

As they lay in bed that night, cool and comfortable in the sixty-eight degree air, Castiel relished the feeling of his dry skin against the sheets. Dean adjusted the pillow under his head and sighed.

“You know, this is the first room I ever had that was mine? Well, unless you count my bedroom when I was three.”

“Hmm,” Castiel said, feeling suddenly awkward. He pressed his lips together and glanced around the room. Their bedroom in Lawrence had signs of both of them: the glass of water Castiel insisted on beside the bed, a picture of Dean and his mother tacked to the wall. The dark green bedspread they’d picked out together. But this room held so much of Dean and so little of Castiel. In spite of how many times he’d stolen into this room under cover of darkness, he felt like he was intruding somewhere he shouldn’t.

“Should I sleep in my old room?”

“No, no! I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” Dean sought Castiel’s hand under the sheet and squeezed it hard. “I like sharing this with you.”

“More than Lawrence?”

He felt Dean shrug, the pull of the sheet over his shoulders. “I like having you to myself.”

“But?”

“What makes you think there’s a but?”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

Dean rubbed his forehead. “Would you be pissed if I said I wanted to move back here?”

“To the bunker?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Do_ you want to move back here?” Castiel asked, turning his head so he stared at Dean’s profile in the dark.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Since when?”

“Few weeks.”

Castiel swallowed, uncertain. His mouth had gone dry. “When you come back, would you...should I stay in Lawrence?”

“The hell?” Dean asked, rolling toward him. “Why would you say that?”

“You said that you were thinking of moving back. I wasn’t sure if I fit into the equation.”

“You really think I’d move back here without you?”

Now that Dean said it out loud, it sounded foolish. Castiel shook his head. Dean kissed him with a hand firm against Castiel’s cheek, touching their foreheads together.

“You’d be comfortable living together,” Castiel asked, “with your brother?”

“Yeah. We’ll have to keep it down in the shower. No more naked _Chopped_.”

Dean paused to laugh. Castiel chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts bouncing off each other like the moths that launched attacks on their porch light. Apparently, he stayed quiet too long, because Dean finally sighed and gave Castiel's hand another squeeze.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Dean continued, sobering. “If you can’t do it, I get it. We’ll go back to Lawrence first thing tomorrow and I’ll shut up.”

“You insisted on leaving. The house was your idea.”

“Thought it’d be easier, just the two of us. Extended honeymoon.”

“We’re not married,” Castiel reminded him.

“We got matching IDs.”

“They’re not legal.”

“Well, see, Sam and I are wanted in I-don't-know-how-many states. Oh, and there’s the fact that you don’t actually exist. Makes it a little difficult to get a marriage license. We’d probably need to dig up Jimmy’s birth certificate.”

Castiel shrugged. “I know. It’s just too bad. I like the tradition.” He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, preparing to sleep.

Eventually, Dean did the same, but after a few minutes where they both shifted awkwardly and cleared their throats, he spoke again. “You’d really want to do that?”

Castiel blinked his eyes open. “Assume Jimmy’s identity?”

“Well, yeah, but—I meant the other thing.”

“Yes. If you do.”

Dean licked his lips and took a breath before answering. “Sure.”

“Dean, about moving…I don’t have an issue coming back here. The bunker is practical and infinitely safer. Lawrence is too accessible. And you’ll be more comfortable being closer to Sam.”

“I worry about him.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t—I’m not choosing him over you.”

“I know you aren’t.”

Dean fussed with the sheet, yanking it up so it covered his shoulders. Castiel was bare to the waist. Dean huffed and hooked an ankle over Castiel’s.

“You know Sam’ll be getting you outta bed at the ass-crack of dawn to go running.”

“I like running,” said Castiel.

“And us having sex, knowing my brother is right down the hall, that’s no big deal?”

“Did you forget about the motel room last month?”

“Touché. You, um, you know he heard that?”

“He told me,” Castiel said gravely.

Dean grimaced. “Seriously?”

“He brought it up while you were in the shower.”

Dean forced out a sigh. “So if I talk with him about this, you’d really be okay with that?”

“I want to talk with him together.”

“Huh. Okay, yeah. As soon as he’s feeling better.” Dean grinned crookedly and shifted closer, nipping at Castiel's bottom lip. His palm was warm and flat against Castiel's chest. “Lease doesn’t run out until October. We can take our time packing, make the most of the, uh, alone time.”

“We’re alone right now,” Castiel reminded him, and Dean laughed into his mouth.

* * *

A little past midnight, Dean fell asleep with his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck, an arm flung over his stomach. The bunker was cool and silent. Sam was wheezing down the hall, but asleep nonetheless. When he needed help getting to the bathroom at 3am, the phone he called was Castiel’s.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt from quickreaver:** Dean  & Cas having a lot of "them" time. They decide on a picnic since it's beautiful out. They invite Sam, show up at his house, only to find Sam has the flu. No wonder they haven't heard from him lately!
> 
> Dean and Cas picnic at [Riverfront Park](http://lawrenceks.org/lprd/parks/riverfrontpark) in Lawrence. [This](https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x87bf6fb02a11bd5d:0x644f57354ed93b90!2m5!2m2!1i80!2i80!3m1!2i100!3m1!7e1!4shttps://ssl.panoramio.com/photo/59870366!5sriverfront+park+lawrence+ks+-+Google+Search&sa=X&ved=0CIIBEKIqMA1qFQoTCIjQrLzPzscCFUUdPgodDWUM_g) is the reference photo I used.
> 
> The title is from _Open Arms_ by Journey, which is Dean's fault. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://museaway.tumblr.com) • [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/museawayfic) • [fic post on tumblr](http://www.museaway.com/post/127949577480/quickreaver-prompted-this-months-ago-and-ive)


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